Challenge (5 page)

9.

Needing a drink, Grym headed to the dining car in the center of the train. At one end of the car stood a service bar, where an African American woman with a deep, kind voice sold him a Diet Coke.

Following the trip to the baggage car, he’d taken the precaution of changing his looks. He didn’t want the conductor picking him out of the crowd and complicating things. Better to blend in with the rest of the passengers. He could always remove the disguise if he wanted to be recognized. He’d also taken a seat in a different car. With the train under way, no one was going anywhere—he had time to find the boy and the briefcase.

His personal ID was more of a problem—he didn’t carry a driver’s license for his current face. But if pressed, he could return to the restroom and change himself back in a matter of minutes.

He had to complete this mission. The equipment had been sent ahead. By now it had been tested and was ready to be put into place. A simple story in the newspaper had put this plan into action. Reworking the technology to their favor had been his brother’s idea. Time was of the essence: the lottery’s jackpot had crossed the forty-million-dollar mark.

The plan at hand was going to make them rich, and they were going to make some very powerful friends in the process.

Halfway through his Diet Coke, Grym glanced out the window at the passing countryside and, in the reflection off the glass, spotted a man staring at him. He allowed the man a few seconds to look away—and he did—but Grym’s concern lingered. Who was the guy, and why had he been staring?

A minute or two passed. Grym checked the reflection again. The man wasn’t looking his way, so he took the opportunity to observe the stranger: the man had shaved earlier in the day, nicking his face; he dressed well and wore expensive Italian shoes, but they’d recently been resoled. The Italian shoes didn’t fit with Grym’s stereotype of a federal agent or cop, and this relieved him. Maybe the guy had just been looking
out
the window, same as Grym.

He reviewed his options if things got tricky: it was possible to jump from a moving train, though he had no desire to try it. There were few if any places to hide on the train. He was glad he’d had a look inside the baggage car, because, as it turned out, that would be a good place to hide. Aaron Grym could pick almost any lock in a matter of minutes. If he wanted in to the baggage car, it wouldn’t be a problem.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going anywhere without that briefcase. Above all, he had to find the briefcase.

Once again he shifted focus on the glass, and instead of watching the farmland, he saw that the seat behind him was empty, the man gone. He turned his head and looked all around the car. Gone.

Grym felt relief. He must have been wrong. But he couldn’t be absolutely sure.

10.

A few minutes ahead of Amtrak’s scheduled arrival in Toledo, Larson stood on the platform with Hampton. Twelve special-operations officers from the Toledo Police Department—dressed in black and wearing body armor vests—were dispatched to take their positions, and quickly disappeared.

Their commanding officer, a colonel named Bridge Knightly, addressed Larson with a firm handshake and a face void of all expression. Two German shepherds, handled by armor-clad female police officers—the K-9 teams—occupied positions on the platform itself. The backs of the officers’ black windbreakers were marked
TPD SPECIAL OPS
in bold yellow letters.

Larson explained to Knightly, “Hampton and I, each with one of your K-9 teams, will conduct a search that will meet in the middle of the train. No passengers will be allowed to disembark during the search. You’ll detain anyone leaving prior to the conclusion of the search. Sound okay?” He offered the man the description they had of Grym.

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“Yeah.”

“Good luck, pal.”

“I know.”

Knightly said gravely, “If your guy is dumb enough to try to run, my guys are going to stop him. Enough said.”

Larson said, “We need him alive. We want him alive. He has information vital to national security.”

Knightly said, “Then you’d better hope he doesn’t run.”

11.

“All passengers are asked to return to, and to remain in, their seats and compartments,” a male voice calmly announced over the train’s public-address system. “We’re to undergo a random security check in the Toledo station that will last no more than ten minutes. This will not delay our schedule as long as we gain the full cooperation of
all
passengers. Thank you for your patience.”

Discontent rippled through the car. Grym tensed and considered the situation. The police certainly had nothing matching his current disguise. His only real risk came if they demanded identification. He doubted authorities would ask for ID from each and every passenger; such an action would take far more than the ten minutes that had been mentioned. But he also knew this was no random check.

They were looking for him.

Did they know he was on the train, or were they just guessing?

To leave his seat now was unthinkable. They’d be looking for that kind of reaction. So, with his heart pounding, he put his nose down into a magazine and waited it out.

He blamed the kid for this. He blamed the kid for everything.

12.

Steel and his mother had just transferred to the sleeper car when the announcement came over the public-address system. Their compartment, number ninety, was only a few doors down from Kaileigh’s, he noted. This would be their home from Toledo to Washington. A conductor had been nice enough to allow them in a few minutes ahead of arrival into the station, but now with the announcement of a search, Steel was fretting.

The room was small and narrow, but brightly lit. An upper bunk folded out from the wall. The bench seats converted into a narrow bed at knee height. There was a lot of plastic and stainless steel: a sink, a mirror, a small closet with a chemical toilet.

Steel had assumed that the security announcement meant they were after him. The man had made a big enough stink about the missing briefcase, and now they were going to search the train. But it wasn’t here in their compartment—so what was the worst that could happen? Was hiding the briefcase the same as stealing?

This felt like the perfect opportunity to tell the authorities about the kidnapped woman—the horrific photo in the briefcase. He tried to build up the courage to tell someone, but in reality he was terrified. He’d never said more than hello to a policeman before. How was he supposed to start a conversation? “Excuse me, sir, but I found this briefcase, took it off the train, then gave it to a conductor, then found it again, and now I’ve hidden it.”

“Why did you take it in the first place, young man?”

“Well, you see, I have a photographic memory, and I saw this woman…It’s kind of a long story.”

“So the conductor currently has the briefcase?”

“No, sir. Not exactly…I kind of…It’s in the baggage car with my dog.”

“Your dog?”

Speaking of his dog, Steel’s mother had arranged for him to take Cairo for a potty walk during the Toledo stop. Now she was irritated by the announcement that they’d be delayed. If they didn’t get the chance to walk the dog soon, then Cairo would use her crate as a bathroom—and that would be ugly.

“This is going to cut into our time in the station,” she said.

Then, all of a sudden, Steel realized this stop had
nothing
to do with the case and everything to do with Kaileigh. Her nanny had reported her missing—plain and simple. For a moment he relaxed. Then he tensed again: what if he was wrong?

He asked his mom, “But I can still take her for a walk, right?”

He was thinking that the best place to be during this security check was
off
the train.

She didn’t hear him. She checked her phone—
again.
He knew she was waiting for a call from his father. She’d hidden her concern well for the past ten days, but Steel knew his father should have called by now. Again, he wondered if his parents were having problems. Again, he pushed it aside.

“What about Cairo?” Steel asked again.

“If she hasn’t gone by now it’s a miracle.”

“It’s not like she’s been eating or drinking,” Steel said. “Remember Montana?”

His mother grinned. Of course she remembered Montana, she said. The family had dozens of great dog stories.

He looked out as the train pulled into the station. Lady police officers with dogs. He grew increasingly nervous. Either he or Kaileigh was going to get it. What would his mom say when she found out he hadn’t told her about the baggage car? He’d be grounded for life. She might even withdraw him from the science challenge to punish him. How was he going to tell the cops with his mom around?

He caught his mom staring at her phone again.

“He’ll call,” Steel said.

She smirked. Her eyes grew glassy. “Your father?” she said. “I spoke to him when you were in the restroom. Didn’t I tell you?”

She’d never been able to lie to him. For years he’d been able to see through her lame attempts.

“Oh yeah?” he said, trying to sound excited. “That’s fantastic! Did you tell him where we were?”

“Of course!”

“Is he going to come to the challenge?” What a weird game to play, he thought.

“He’s going to
try.
It’s the best he can do.”

“That’s cool. If he tries, he’ll make it,” Steel said.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she cautioned. She looked a little panicked. “He’s terribly busy.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

All of a sudden it looked as if she might cry.

He’d totally crush her if he told the police in front of her. She would freak out. He thought maybe the best thing would be to wait until Washington.

13.

As Larson boarded the front of the train, he entered a world of confusion.

Passengers had not followed instructions. Some of the elderly travelers seemed to think they’d been ordered
off
the train. Other passengers crowded the aisles clutching their bags, waiting to get off. A line five people deep had formed in front of the restroom. Some people had headed to the dining car, only to find the concessions closed, and were now crowding the back of the car, trying to return to their seats.

Larson took one look at the confusion and knew immediately that ten minutes was not going to be enough. Worse, Amtrak was not going to
give
him more than ten minutes. He’d never meet up with Hampton in the middle of the train, given how slow this was going to go. It was a blown operation before it began.

Tempers flared. Questions were shouted at him. More announcements over the PA system were drowned out by chaos. No one seemed in any hurry to comply with requests. Anarchy.

Larson scanned the rows of seats, looking for a passenger that matched the description he’d been given. The size and urgency of the task struck him. The dogs clearly offered him the best chance at identifying and apprehending a suspect; trained to detect gunpowder, gun oil, and several chemicals used in explosives, he wanted to get a dog on his end of the train, past as many passengers as possible.

He radioed Hampton and told him to forget about the boy for now. Their primary suspect remained their top priority. He wanted all efforts made to find Grym.

Hampton reported that the conditions on the far end of the train were as difficult as on Larson’s end. He said, “We’re into this one on a wing and a prayer.”

14.

At the moment that Hampton received the call from Larson, his hand rested on a door handle to the fourth sleeping berth in the train car. He and a K-9 team had searched the baggage car with only one minor distraction: the German shepherd had gone a little wild when passing a crated dog. The shepherd wasn’t supposed to “alert” to other dogs, and her handler had disciplined her. It certainly hadn’t been alerting to Grym, so Hampton moved on, having no idea of the presence of the briefcase in the back of the cage.

He swung open the door to the sleeping berth. He faced a woman and a boy—a kid about the same age and height as the boy seen on the platform in Chicago. He stepped out of the way, allowing the German shepherd halfway inside the berth, her nose twitching.

“Sorry for the intrusion; just a routine inspection.”

“Doesn’t seem very routine,” the mother said.

Following a quick glance at the mother, he tried to meet eyes with the boy, but the boy—reading a book—didn’t look up.

“Thank you,” Hampton said, still hoping to make contact with the boy.

With the clock ticking, he jotted down the number of the berth—along with the train car—into his notebook and moved on. Apprehending Grym was the primary assignment. No one wanted money going to terrorists.

Some boy and his briefcase would just have to wait.

15.

At the sight of the U.S. marshal and the K-9 team, Steel freaked. For a moment he thought his heart had stopped. The marshal, an African American, had shoulders as wide as the train car door. He had a kind face, though he wore a serious expression. From behind him came the German shepherd. She nosed her way into the room while Steel’s mother made small talk.

He wanted to tell his mother to shut up, to stop delaying the man and let him get out of here. After experiencing a spike of heat up his spine as the man attempted to make eye contact, Steel kept his head down and didn’t look up again.

He knows something…he thought.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the man thanked them—
thanked
them!—and closed the door.

“Well, that was painless,” his mother said.

Steel felt drenched with sweat.

“Are you feeling okay, sweetheart? You’ve gone pale as a bedsheet.”

“It’s my stomach,” he complained, despite feeling fine.

“It’s the fumes from the train. Ever since we stopped, I can hardly breathe,” she said.

Steel didn’t smell much of anything. Maybe some disinfectant and a trace of kerosene, but that was hardly the cause of his current state.

“Okay, they’ve seen us. All present and accounted for,” his mother said. “If you want to check on Cairo, you’re free to do so.”

“I…ah…” He had no desire to risk running into that guy again.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to? Sweet boy, you must not feel well. Oh, poor thing. First you bother
endlessly
about seeing Cairo. Now I
let
you see her, and you’re not sure you even want to.”

“I do want to see her…but…I don’t,” he said, rubbing his stomach for effect.

“Which is it—because one of us has to take her out.”

The thought of his mother seeing the briefcase at the back of the dog crate provided a miraculous healing. “No! No! I’ll do it,” he said, jumping up. He hoped by now the marshal and the K-9 team had left the train car.